


Just Breathe

by oiks_and_lance



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Chronic Illness, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Swim Team AU, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9623618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oiks_and_lance/pseuds/oiks_and_lance
Summary: Lance is literally .5 seconds away from making his way to nationals for swim. That is until he hits a slight bump in the road.





	

    I could hear my coach yelling to the left of the pool, but I couldn’t tell what he was saying. I was swimming as fast as I could, but black circles were engulfing my field of vision. I don’t know if I’m in the right lane anymore or what place I’m in. Everything was going dark. Somewhere along the way I stopped being able to see the pool buoys around me, stopped hearing the cheers that would lead me to nationals this year. Somewhere along the way I blacked out. 

 

    “Is he breathing?”

 

    “The ambulance is almost here, just back up.”

 

    “Lance, can you hear me? Keith, go call his mom.”

 

    “I already did - she's meeting us at the hospital, coach.”

 

    Images of my coach and teammates began to appear in front of me. I wanted to talk to them. I wanted to let them know that I was okay, I’m not dying damn it. Everything was blurry and sounded as if i were wearing ear muffs. I couldn’t hear clearly. I couldn’t tell what they were saying. Why do they look so worried? Why can’t I breathe? Everything is going dark again.

 

* * *

 

    I was awakened by the smell of latex gloves and the beeping of machines. I blinked the LED brightness out of my vision until it became something I could handle. I gathered my thoughts trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Okay, my name is Lance. I am 17 years old. I was competing at the High School State Swim Competition for the 4th year in a row, determined to beat my own record in the 200 IM and carve my way to nationals to finally win this year. Memories of losing control of my own breathing and being dragged out of the pool flood my mind. Coughing up over chlorinated water and choking on my own spit remind me that training everyday for the last 14 years was a waste of time. My lungs begin to feel full again, but still failing to provide breath to me. What the fuck did I do wrong? I used my inhaler, I warmed up properly, I did every goddamn thing right! No no no no no. Tell me this isn’t happening. Please tell me I didn’t wake up at 4 a.m. to train for the past 7 years for my fucking asthma to prevent me from winning nationals. Don’t tell me that none of this was worth it. It has to be a lie.

 

    “I see that you’re awake now, Mr. McClain.”

 

    My first reaction to this guy is  _ “Wow, is this guy even old enough to be a doctor?” _ Instead, “Nope, I’m dead. I see the angels reaching down for me, leading the way to my own personal haven to allow me to live in eternal bliss. Tell my family I love them, though. They were good people, always fed me, clothed me, and loved me.”

 

    “Okay, he’s being over dramatic. Everything’s fine this was all an act. You can all go home now,” says a walking, talking mullet.

 

    I look from the black mop, over to the fresh meat doctor, and back over to Keith. The white walls, white ceiling, and white sheets are a bit much to look at, and frankly bland. I debate telling this to Dr. McYoungster before I see my mom crying just outside the room and deciding to bite my tongue.

 

    The doctor looks at me and begins to speak, “Hey Lance, how’re you feeling?” He looks at me as if I’m a puppy that just got run over by an eighteen wheeler on the highway.

 

    “I’m okay. My chest hurts a bit, but other than that, I can actually feel myself slowing slipping into the afterlife due to ruining the most important meet of my life.”

 

    “I see. I hear this isn’t the first of one of these episodes?”

 

    “Doc I’m gonna be completely honest here. I have no clue what the hell just happened. Have I blacked out before due to the inability to breathe as a result of my fucked up lungs? Sure. Have I pushed myself a bit too hard in hopes of catching the attention of college scouts across the country? Maybe. But to be completely honest, I don’t give a quiznak about my health at the moment. What I  _ need _ to know is why my dear, fragile mother is in the hallway balling her eyes out?”

 

    I look over to Keith as he begins mocking me, before the doctor begins to speak again, “I’m afraid those topics are related, Lance. I think we need to have a private conversation,” he looks over at Keith, and back at me, “if that would be okay?”

 

    Keith huffed out a breath, wanting to know what was going on just as much as me, but eventually left the room after being stared down by Coach Coran. My heartbeat began to race a bit and it wasn’t due to his stupidly cute ponytail for once. I was worried. I’ve had plenty of doctors tell me my lungs were shitty, but I’ve never had one make me hear it in private.

 

    He looked at me with a sad smile and eyes that held sorrow in them. I couldn’t stand the noisy silence anymore. Not the squeaks of wheels of gurneys in the halls, the sounds of typing on computers by the nurses, or the distant murmurs of my mother’s spanish accent talking to my coach through tears in the hall. I couldn’t handle it anymore so, “What’s your name?”

 

    “I’m Dr. Shirogane, but feel free to call me Shiro.”

 

    I look at him up and down. More confused now than I was before. “I’ve never had such a friendly doctor. Are you even old enough to be one?”

 

    “I’ll take that as a compliment. And yes, I am. Unfortunately Lance, I’m afraid we’re going to have to get to know each other more than either of us would prefer.”

 

    “Well I am personally offended. I am the best person to get to know.”

 

    He looked at me again, like a kitten that was just kicked across the room. “Lance, I need you to listen for a moment okay?” He took in a deep breath and his voice began to shake, “We ran some tests while you were out of it. After looking over the results we believe your breathing problems are more than just what your asthma carries out to you. I’m going to have to run a lung biopsy to make sure, but you may have worse issues than we thought. The incident today  _ was  _ due to your asthma, but something else may be wrong with your lungs. We think you might have a tumor in your lungs, but we don’t know for sure. It might be nothing, so don’t worry too much over it, alright?”

 

    What? My head starts spinning. I know what lungs are. They allow you to breathe. Sure, mine suck, but they work. I also know what having a tumor in your body means - cancer. It’s a fatal autoimmune disease. It prevents people from living to the full extent. I start laughing, believing Shiro’s words to be a joke. I look at him and see he’s not laughing back. I look at my mother in the hallway, wiping her tears away, only for them to be replaced a millisecond later. I look at Keith, who presumably learned what was happening from my mother, with a stern face, but eyes glossing over with water. I look at my coach, the man I’ve wanted to mentor me since I was five years old, the man that accepted me onto his team when I was fourteen, I watch him embrace my mother for all the burdens I put on her. My laugh dies down, tears start blobbing together in the corners of my eyes and I look at my doctor again, “What?”

 

    “Don’t worry, Lance. We’re not completely sure it’s cancer yet. We have more tests to run now that you’re awake. We will fight through every step of this together. You are not alone. I need you to trust me.”

 

    I managed to choke something out, “Can I please speak to my mom alone?”

 

    “I’ll send her in.”

 

* * *

 

    After some exchanges between my mom and Shiro, some dried tears, and a smile for good luck, my mom made her way to my room.

 

    She was wearing the olive green dress I bought her last Mother's Day. I got a part time job at a shitty fast food restaurant to buy it from one of those expensive stores she always dreamed of owning clothes from, but never bought in favor of spending her excess money on things for me and my siblings. It pains me whenever she’s sad, especially when she feels she doesn’t buy us the newest and grandest items on the market. I sighed into my question, “Mom, why are you crying?”

 

    She swallows dry air and unconvincingly whispers, “I’m not, mijo. Are you okay?”

 

    My mother was lying and I could tell in an instant. Her cheeks were red and her eyes were puffy. Snot was still coming out of her nose. I almost couldn’t bare to look at her. My mom meant everything to me. She raised me and my siblings all alone after my father left our home and never looked back. She was offered no help from her family that treated her as an outcast since her decision to leave Cuba and start a new life in the States. She gave up everything she had and worked herself endlessly to make sure she could provide for all of us and it hurts to think that anymore stress could be put on her. Forget me, I don’t care about anything I have to go through, I just want her to be spared from anymore pain.

 

    I got lost in my own thoughts. Memories of my childhood flooding in, reminding me of everything she ever did. She accepted Hunk as a member of the family, opened her arms wide when I told her about being bi and what that meant, beat my ass when my grades started slipping so I wouldn’t fail a grade. Everything she did to make sure I could have the life she never could with her own family growing up. I can’t hurt her anymore than she already has been.

 

    I smiled at her, “Of course, Mamá. He said it might be nothing, there’s no use in worrying at this point,” I felt like I was trying to convince myself more than her, but her eyes did have a shred of hope in them after. 

 

   “The doctor said that you should stay in the hospital for tonight so they can monitor you. They want to do more tests tomorrow, including your lung biopsy.”

 

    It was a lot to take in and honestly it was all exhausting. Everything was happening so fast and it was hard to keep up. My mom smiled at me again, “I should head home, your siblings are probably starting a riot over where dinner is at this point,” I looked at the unbearably slow tick on the wall clock across the room placed by the mounted television, noticing that it was nearly 7:30.

 

    “Yeah mom, you should get some rest. I’ll be okay.”

 

    She leaned closer to me to hug me at an awkward angle while I was laying in bed. She told me she loved me and I replied faster than I ever had. She squeezed me tightly one last time before she said her final goodbyes and left for the night. I pretended that the tears weren’t forming again as I looked into the hallway to examine my outside surroundings. My mom said goodbye to Keith and Coach, then made her way to elevators and disappeared into the doors. Coach turned to me and saluted before he started in the same direction. 

 

    Then I was left alone to look at Keith. Keith. Keith. Keith. He has plagued my life since I started high school in the worst possible way. We met the summer before 9th grade at a swim meet where I swore we would be life long enemies. When August arrived and the swim season began at Altea High, I was horrified to see Keith wearing the same logoed swim cap as me. He claimed he had no clue who I was, but of course he remembered me, who wouldn’t? Within a month we had turned from arch enemies to forming a healthy rivalry. A few weeks after that we had no choice but to consider ourselves friends, and somewhere between then and now, Keith has been the only one to make my heart race as fast as my asthma. I despised it. It was distracting and it hurt and I never really knew how to deal with my feelings. I just learned to accept that I would be hopelessly pining over him for the rest of my life, not even knowing if he likes guys. He started walking towards me and I can only hope my blushing would keep itself to a minimum.

 

    He avoids eye contact with me for a minute before looking up with a constipated face, “You’re welcome, by the way.”

 

    I was dumbfounded. What has this boy, the boy that has unknowingly torn my heart to shreds everyday piece by piece, done for me that I should be thanking him for? He must have gotten the message through my open mouth and squinting eyes, “You were drowning and I dragged you out of the pool. I kinda saved your life. You’re welcome.”

 

    “Nope sorry. I have no memory of this. It most definitely did not happen.”

 

    He looked hurt by my words, I almost felt bad for him.  _ Almost _ . “I saved you from the pool that was trying to engulf your lungs! I cradled you in my arms! It was a  _ bonding _ moment!”

 

    Now this I certainly could not believe, so I laughed in his face. 

 

    He face started getting red from anger. Maybe he  _ did _ save me. “Okay, okay I believe you. I’m sorry man, there’s just a lot going on at the moment.” I was thankful that he didn’t look at me with pity.

 

    I was not thankful that he did  _ not _ lean over and kiss me like I had been mentally begging him to do for 4 years. I was  _ definitely  _ not thankful for his next set of words, “Well, I should be heading home. My dad is probably freaking out.”

  
    I was disappointed about how short our conversation was, but I was content that he stayed until we could have one, at least. He started to the door before I said my final words for the night, “Keith,” he turned his head towards me, “thank you - for everything. I owe you one.” He muttered something about it not being a big deal and walked away.


End file.
